Ripples/Chapter Two
Chapter Two: [[User:Stargaze66|'Stareh']] "Wake up, Pebblestep, you great lump!" The mottled warrior woke with a snort, slitting one eye open to glare at Marshberry. The white she-cat was prodding his flank with one brown-dappled paw, her claws out and poking his ribs uncomfortably. "Shove off, Marshberry, I was having a good dream," he muttered, rolling away from his only friend's prods - straight into the back of a sleeping cat. Sandcloud sat up abruptly, staring down crossly at Pebblestep as he stammered apologies and rolled away from the senior warrior once again. "Why don't you make yourself useful and go join dawn patrol?" Sandcloud snapped, shaking out her brown fur before settling back into her nest again. Marshberry and Pebblestep exchanged a glance before complying, stepping carefully over the warm sleeping bodies of their Clanmates to the camp beyond. RiverClan's island was full of bright dawn light that warmed the soft earth; Pebblestep stretched, reaching out with his forepaws and pressing his belly to the pleasantly warm ground, fighting a content purr. Marshberry shoved his shoulder with her brown-patched flank, jabbing her tail towards the group of cats heading for the river. "C'mon, Sandcloud will line her nest with our pelts if she wakes up and finds we're still here." Pebblestep sighed and stared longingly at the fresh-kill pile; there were still a few fish left over from the night before, but one annoyed glance from Marshberry and they were scurrying to catch up with the dawn patrol. "Watch it, Smokeheart!" Pebblestep lifted his head in surprise; a smoky gray and white tom was balanced on a stone in the river, his paws slipping on the slick surface. Smokeheart's eyes looked vacant, and a moment later he had lost his balance and was sent tumbling into the sharp, dawn-cold water. Pebblestep hissed as a cascade of water was sent up towards the patrol; a few splatters hit his fur and he staggered back, whimpering, immediately shaking his fur and lapping at it to rid himself of the dampness. Marshberry cast a glance at him out of the corner of her eye before diving into the river with a few other cats to try to yank Smokeheart from the water. Pebblestep closed his eyes, trying to concentrate of the feeling of sunlight on his fur and not the splashing and gurgling of the water. Poor Smokeheart had been like this since the Invasion, back when Pebblestep was just a kit - all the warriors told anyone who asked was that he had had a bad shock and had never truly recovered from it. From what Pebblestep understood, he was the only one who had actually seen what happened to him. The memories came back to him in red-tinged flashes, making him flinch - one of the Others clamping down with its Twoleg-like paws, the strange, separate bendable claws that could pick even the smallest of stones up, that could wrap around things - like Sagefrost's neck. Those individual appendages twisted once and with a decisive crack the white she-cat's body fell, its expression not faltering from the same carefully blank stare. The Other had seemed completely unaffected by the murder it had just committed; it had simply stared at the blood staining his paws with a detatched, emotionless, cold stare, nudged her body out of the way, and shoved its way back into battle. Smokeheart had seen the whole thing, watched his own mate be killed by some strange creature they'd never even seen before, and he hadn't been the same since. Pebblestep shook out his fur, blocking the disturbing images of the fateful night from his mind. The others had been successful in pulling Smokeheart from the river; he crouched, shivering, on the sandy bank, looking as if he didn't care if he stayed there, wet and cold, for the rest of the day. "Pebblestep, why don't you take Smokeheart back to camp?" He lifted his head, immediately shrinking under the gaze of Badgerfall and the attention that was cast on him. He only gave a small nod and shoved one shoulder under Smokeheart, levering him into a standing position, and leading the shell-shocked warrior back to the camp. The gray tom sat stretched in a spot of sunlight, head on his paws. Smokeheart had been taken under the medicine cat Moonleaf's care to treat for an on-coming cough and the usual medications to deal with his chronic shock. The fish on the fresh-kill pile that had taunted his empty belly before now made it roll uncomfortably. He was vaguely conscious of a warm pelt being pressed against his, and his sister's scent swirled around him like a loving mother curling around her kit. "Hollystrike?" he murmured, burrowing deeper into her soft tortoiseshell fur. "Yes?" He tried to reply, but sleep was impossibly tugging at him, and he gave in after a fruitless battle against it. ~*~*~* "Pebblestep." The voice in his ear was urgent, and so was the muzzle pushing at his shoulder. "Pebblestep, wake up." He rolled, moaning, until he was on his back, opening his eyes to meet the upside-down gaze of his sister. The sky beyond Hollystrike's head was fiery orange with an oncoming sunset. I slept that long? "What's up?" He rolled back to his belly and got stiffly to his paws, licking a tuft of fur on his shoulder flat. That's when the smell hit him. Blood - lots of it. He whipped his head around, noticing for the first time that the entire Clan was gathered around a group of cats. The dawn patrol that had gone out this morning. Badgerfall and Whitewillow were sitting in a ring of their Clanmates, hunched over, fur torn and streaked with blood. Three bodies lay at their paws - Swiftfoot, Silvershine, and Marshberry. ''And Marshberry. ''Pebblestep's heart sank, a whimper escaping his muzzle before he could hold it in, and he felt Hollystrike press against him comfortingly. "What did this?" Reedstar demanded, his brown fur spiked as he stared at three dead Clanmates and two more close to death - both Badgerfall and Whitewillow had terrible gashes on their bellies and throats, and it was obvious that even though Moonleaf was bustling to stop the flow from both cat's wounds at once, they weren't safe yet. Badgerfall bared his teeth in a snarl, showing that blood was staining their white surface red, and flattened his ears against his head. "The Others," he spat with enough venom to kill a Twoleg. Silence followed those two words, the only sound being the wind howling through the camp, lifting the dead cat's fur as if they were still alive and furious, seeking revenge for their deaths.